


The One Where Loki's Coffee Addiction Got a Bit Out of Hand

by luckysilverbell



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1774624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckysilverbell/pseuds/luckysilverbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kink meme. Can't find the prompt, but it was something about Loki tweaking from too much coffee.</p><p>So that's what this is. Loki OD'd on coffee.</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fury

When the interdimensional portal of sparkly blue fire opened that night, Nick Fury had been prepared for anything. Giant alien scorpions? No problem. Klingon warbirds? That’s cute. Marvin the Martian and Buzz Lightyear doing a tango? Bring it on.

But what he had _**not**_ prepared for was the pale, twitchy motherfucker in front of him. The little tweaker’s eyes were darting around in his head so fast that it was starting to make him dizzy, and he had a ‘I just snorted my twelfth line of blow and I think I can fly’ grin that would look right at home on a mental patient.

And just great. Twitchy was armed.

“Sir,” he called out, slowly enough for their new friend to clearly understand. “Please. Put down. The spear.”

Twitchy looked down at his hand, as if just realizing that yes, there was a sharp, glowing instrument of death clutched in it. Imagine that. 

Then he started shooting people. Well, fuck. An intergalactic tweaker with a laser-spear. Things were really not looking up.

Nick was hopeful when his men started shooting back, but the bullets just ricocheted off Twitchy’s body and the poor sucker with the gun got harpooned in the face. He knew the two men now taking aim might as well have been pointing nail guns at their coffins, and before he could say anything, Twitchy had flung some nasty-looking throwing knives into their stomachs.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. A stabbing here, an explosion there, pepper in a few kicks and knives, and you have a full-on massacre. ‘Bravo, Twitchy,’ Nick thought with a frown. ‘Now you gonna die.’

Twitchy’s eyes were still spinning like roulette balls, and he was half-surprised the motherfucker’s heart hadn’t popped. Oh well, if he ever got out of this, he would dedicate a whole five minutes of his time to wondering what exactly this guy was on, and how curb-stomping an entire special ops team didn’t kill him. But for now, the Tesseract needed him.

Then Twitchy said something. He hadn’t heard exactly what it was, but when he looked up, some weird blue light was traveling up the spear blade and into Barton. Yeah, Twitchy just bought himself a one-way ticket to the Magical Land of Asskickings.

Luckily, Twitchy seemed a bit preoccupied with poking people in the chest with his glowy mind-controlling laser-spear to notice Nick slip the Tesseract into a briefcase and slip out the back door. Or, so he thought. “Please don’t.” Nick was mildly surprised. Twitchy’s voice was calm, even, and not at all what he thought a tweaker of this caliber would sound like. “I still need that.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Nick replied. “What you need is an intervention and a straight jacket. Didn’t your parents ever tell you to just say no to drugs?”

Twitchy looked honestly confused. “Drugs?” 

“Yeah, drugs.” Nick inched closer to the door. “Don’t try to deny it. The only time I’ve seen anyone as tweaked out as you was when I checked one of my men into a rehab clinic. It was a good clinic, though. Nice people who can help you. Maybe we can go check it out togeth—”

“What’s this?” Twitchy clearly hadn’t been paying the slightest bit of attention, and started across the room to grab an abandoned coffee mug. “It’s empty.”

Nick resisted the urge to roll his eye. “Hey, Twitchy!” he shouted. “I’m talking to you!”

“My name isn’t ‘Twitchy’. It’s Loki.”

Dr. Selvig seemed to know this name. “Loki,” he exclaimed. “Brother of Thor!”

Twitchy… or Loki, whatever, clearly did not like this name, but then went full ADHD and seemed to suddenly lose interest in what anyone was saying. “Is that coffee?” he asked, pointing at the mug in Dr. Selvig’s hand.

“What?” Selvig stuttered. “I… Yes. Yes it is. But what does that have to—”

He was cut off by the Blue Stick of Hypnosis. 

“Share.”

Selvig passed him the mug without any questions, and Loki immediately chugged the whole cup. Nick rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand. Someone had to be playing a trick on him. His birthday was coming up soon, and this did seem like just the kind of prank the heads of the department would pull.

Loki licked his lips as he dropped the now-empty mug onto the floor. His eyes seemed brighter now, and he moved with renewed vigor. “This is exactly what I came here for,” he murmured.

“What, for coffee?” Nick said in disbelief. “There is a motherfucking Starbucks five miles down the goddamn road from here! There are hundreds of gas stations with more coffee than you could ever drink!”

“That is exactly my point,” Loki said, tweaker smile back on full display. “Yours is the only realm that has this wonderful creation. Never has such a drink been crafted in Asgard.”

“Well, if coffee’s what you want, I’m sure we could set up a trade agreement of sorts with your people.” Nick offered.

“No, that’s too much trouble. I find killing you all to be _so_ much easier.”

Barton’s gun discharged, and Nick went down.

Son of a bitch.


	2. Clint

Loki was a nutjob. A complete, total, slipper-socks-in-a-snowstorm, what’s-that-over-there nutjob. And that was on the best of days. Clint had not once seen Loki anywhere in their facility without some form of coffee. In fact, the substance was everywhere. Pots on every available surface were constantly brewing, day and night. There was no shortage of cream, sugar, steamed milk, flavoured syrup, espresso beans, or any coffee beans, for that matter. Over half the staff was in coffee heaven.

If he ever broke free of whatever spell was making him jump to Loki’s every whim like a little boy being chased by a ruler-wielding nun, Clint was sure that even the slightest whiff of coffee would make him retch for a long time to come. 

Dr. Selvig had jumped aboard the Espresso Express on day one. That came as no surprise, though. It was suspected, though never confirmed, that he had been the one posting notices throughout the PEGASUS facility about the common courtesy of brewing fresh coffee after you finished the pot.

But the astrophysicist’s need for caffeine paled in comparison to Loki’s. The nutter was all but bouncing off the walls, constantly checking various figures and projections (probably doesn’t understand any of it, probably can’t form a single coherent thought with that much caffeine in his body), running through statistical analyses (ran through them a hundred freaking times already, mellow the fuck out), running through them ‘just once more’ (going to kill him so dead he’s gonna feel it in hell), and only stopping to randomly stare off into nothingness while that stupid spear seemed to pulsate with light. Loki always needed more coffee when that happened.

Fortunately for Clint, he rarely saw Loki for more than three minutes at a time. The demi-god was simply too hyper to sit still or focus for any longer than that. Which would have been excellent for Clint, because left to his own schemes, the chances of Loki actually succeeding in his current state were slim to none. His mouth did not seem to be cooperating with his brain, however, seeing as it felt the overwhelming urge to continuously suggest that Loki reduce his coffee intake and, failing that, request the staff switch the coffee to decaf. 

THAT hadn’t gone down well. Three men had died in the resulting madness, and five more were nursing serious burns from when the decaffeinated coffee pots had spontaneously exploded in their faces.

And still, Clint’s traitorous body was doing everything in its power to further the nutjob’s coffee-fueled schemes, and there was nothing he could do except take a back seat in his own brain and watch the madness unfold.

At the moment, he was browsing through his handheld computer, relishing in the fact that he was finally researching something that wasn’t coffee-related. If he had to Google ‘How to fix an espresso machine’ or ‘can I put a cheese sandwich in the toaster’ one more time, he might have to kill somebody, brain-washing jinx or no. But mercifully, he hadn’t seen that ‘somebody’ in over four hours now, and everything seemed to be running much smoother.

“Is this the stuff you need?” he asked Selvig, holding up the screen for the doctor to see.

Selvig glanced over his shoulder for a second before resuming his work. “Yeah, iridium,” he confirmed. “It’s found in meteorites. It forms anti-protons. It’s very hard to get hold of.”

“Especially if SHIELD knows you need it.” In a way, Clint almost felt bad for Selvig. The man had enough work to do already, what with their ever-changing timeframe. But he had been constantly interrupted for stupid things involving broken coffee makers and the like. Again, had he not been stuck in a state of ‘obey the tweaker’ hypnosis, he would have simply sat back and watched all Loki’s plans turn to shit.

“Well, _I_ didn’t know. Hey!” Speak of the devil. Loki had clearly just come out of one of his alien-induced hallucinogenic stupors, because he was slurping down a large cup of coffee like it was the first drink he’d had in years. Selvig continued gushing about the Tesseract like it was a cute cat video he’d seen on Youtube, and Inner!Clint couldn’t help rolling his eyes. 

“And what did it show you, Agent Barton?”

‘That you’re out of your freaking mind,’ he tried to say, but what came out was, “My next target.”

“Tell me what you need,” Loki said simply, only half focused on anything around him (as he would likely be until he finished three more cups of whatever kind of coffee he was currently consuming.

“I need a distraction,” he replied automatically, grabbing his trusty bow out if its case with a flourish. Again, Inner!Clint rolled his eyes. He was clearly a bit melodramatic when influenced by the Tesseract. “And an eyeball.”

Loki’s grin was something that would haunt his nightmares. “Excellent.”

For a second, Clint thought Loki was replying to his statement. But after following the other man’s gaze, he realized that no, Loki was not at all engaged in their conversation. Another pot of coffee had just finished brewing.

It was there and then that Clint solemnly swore that if he ever managed to regain control of his body, his first course of action would be to smash a coffee pot in Loki’s face.


	3. Günter, the Starbucks Barista

Midgard truly was a spectacular realm. Nowhere near as advanced as Asgard, but there was a certain charm to it that had caught Loki’s attention long before the Tesseract came into play. The mortals were running around every which-way, trying to cram in an eternity’s worth of living into their meager lifespans, seemingly spurred on by the never-ending ‘tik-tik-tik’ of their biological clocks. 

It was fascinating to watch.

Which was why he was currently ambling throughout the city of Stuttgart, watching as the mortals rushed by, fueled by their need to do something worth remembering before their time was up. Well, that was only part of it. There were a lot of coffee shops in this particular part of town, one of which he frequented more often than the rest. 

Starbucks. 

The coffee wasn’t his favourite, but in truth, that wasn’t the reason he visited. It was the people. The customers and staff alike with their wonderful coffee-lingo was the most beautiful language he’d ever heard. And he was content to just sit and listen.

Günter always knew the stranger wasn’t there for the coffee. He never ordered anything. He always sat in the corner closest to the counter—quiet, never with anyone, always staring at his book. Which he wasn’t even really reading. His eyes were never focused on the page, nor were they moving, and a few times, Günter had even noticed the book was upside-down. 

Once or twice, Günter had thought about striking up a conversation with the guy, maybe introducing himself, getting the stranger’s name and (if the cards were in his favour) maybe getting the his number. Because in all honesty, he was _not_ bad-looking. Actually, he was pretty hot.

And one fated day, he thought the cards had _indeed_ fallen in his favour. Günter had just finished clearing out the morning rush, and his final customer had been a particularly difficult one. Or, at least, her order had been. The lady herself seemed nice enough, and was probably just picking up drinks for the people at her office.

_‘One grande quad nonfat one-pump no-whip mocha; one tall half-caff soy latte at 120 degrees; two venti iced skinny hazelnut macchiatos with sugar-free syrup, extra shot, one light ice, one no whip; one venti iced half-caff ristretto, 4-pump, sugar free cinnamon dolce soy skinny latte and one tall nonfat latte with two-percent foam.’_

It was right after the lady apologetically placed her order that Günter had noticed Green-Eyes staring in his direction. That was a bit out of the ordinary, since Green-Eyes never looked up from the book he most certainly wasn’t reading, and Günter felt his breath catch in his chest. Damn, that guy was gorgeous.

Once all the drinks had been made and the lady had hurried out the door, Günter plucked up his courage and walked over to the table where the gorgeous stranger always sat. “What are you reading?” he asked.

“Hm?” The guy clearly had no idea what he was reading. They both knew it, and Günter wasn’t exactly surprised when Green-Eyes changed the topic. “I wonder if she was going to drink all those herself,” he said, and Günter almost melted. Even his voice was gorgeous.

“Nah, I think she’s just making coffee runs for her boss,” he replied. “I get a lot of those.”

Green-Eyes smiled slightly. “I don’t know what half of the words she said even signified,” he said with a small laugh. 

“Oh, it’s not that hard, really,” Günter said enthusiastically. “Mind if I sit here?”

“By all means.”

“Well, it’s really just about remembering the terminology,” he explained. “Upside-down means you put the ingredients in backwards, skinny means low-fat… once you get past those kinds of things, the rest really speaks for itself.” He was spurred on by the stranger’s undivided attention, plus a hungry look in his eyes that made Günter squirm happily. “You know, no-whip, half-caff, light ice, sugar-free, soy… Oh, but I guess you really just have to experience it. Like wet or dry refers to the amount of milk versus foam, and quad is four shots of espresso.”

Green-Eyes’ cheeks looked a bit pink. “That’s… hot,” he said.

Günter couldn’t believe his luck. Of all the hot guys he should try his hand with, he had to get the one who was turned on by coffee-talk. Score! Now to seal the deal. “Here, you have to try one!” he said, hopping to his feet.

“One what?” Green-Eyes asked, still in a state of coffee arousal.

“A quad! It’ll really perk you up. Normally just one shot does it for me, but everyone seems to think the more espresso the better! Here.” He had finished the drink in record time and was certain that if his manager had been there to see that particular feat, a promotion would be right around the corner for him. “Well? Aren’t you gonna try it?”

If Günter could travel back in time to any moment in his life, he would have sprinted in the door and slapped the espresso cup out of his past self’s hands. But unfortunately, he couldn’t, and he could only look on in awe as Green-eyes drank down the entire cup of espresso in one long gulp.

He should have noticed something was wrong. He should have seen the psychotic gleam in the man’s eyes. And he should have seen the muscle in his face twitching ever-so-slightly. But he didn’t. And really, there was no way poor Günter could possibly have known what he was about to unleash on the world.

“That’s it!!” the stranger exclaimed suddenly, jumping to his feet. Günter flinched at the sudden outburst, and stared at the man nervously.

“What’s it?” he asked.

“A distraction and an eyeball.”

Günter shook his head, not sure he’d heard clearly. “Wait, what?!”

“You have given me just the inspiration I needed!” he gushed. “Here I was, spending precious time planning the perfect distraction that still permits me to avoid capture, when capture could instead be beneficial!”

“Hey, could ya pipe down over there?” a customer shouted angrily.

A knife flew out from seemingly nowhere and lodged itself in the customer’s throat. Günter let out a horrified shriek and leapt away from the table. “You killed him!” he exclaimed. “Oh my god, you fucking _killed him!_ What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong with me?” came the irritated reply. “He was ruining my moment. Now he will be silent.”

“Oh god, oh _GOD_!” Günter ran back towards the counter, and the phone. 

Green-eyes hadn’t paid him the slightest bit of attention, and was still talking to himself. Something about Chitauri and iridium and eyeballs, and then there were more knives in more throats.

“What the hell was that for?!” Günter shouted, pointing at the two corpses in the doorway. “They didn’t do anything!”

“I don’t like that bell you have hanging from the door.”

“Then take it down!” Günter snapped. “Stop killing people!”

“Oh, but this is so much fun! I think I’ve found my distraction now.”

Günter didn’t want to think about what Green-Eyes meant by that. He didn’t want to know. He just wanted the police to hurry the hell up and get this knife-wielding, over-caffeinated maniac out of his goddamn store!


	4. Steve

Stuttgart, Germany. 28 Königstraße.

Every computer screen in the room was plastered with pictures of this Loki character. Steve wasn’t normally one to make assumptions based solely on appearances, but he had to admit that the guy did indeed look a little… off. There were dark shadows under his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. His smile seemed devious, impish and playful. 

Playful in an ‘I’m going to cut you open and tickle your pancreas’ sort of way. 

And those eyes. They were too big. Too wide. Like he was receiving a constant series of electric jolts to the face. Or, maybe Fury had been right, and Loki really _was_ mainlining triple-caff. A betting pool had sprung up on the lower levels of the Helicarrier, with its participants attempting to pinpoint exactly what was the driving factor behind Loki’s madness. Everyone had heard Fury’s retelling of the events that unfolded in the PEGASUS facility, but no one was willing to believe that a psychotic break of that magnitude could be attributed to coffee alone.

It _had_ to be meth.

Or, at least, that’s what the smart money was on. PCP was a close second, then crack third. After those three were a series of mental illnesses, lesser-known drugs, and those who agreed with Fury’s coffee explanation. One person even had the audacity to suggest alien brain parasites.

“Captain.” Fury’s voice snapped Steve out of his reverie. “You’re up.” Steve took a deep breath, then nodded. Loki’s face smiled mischievously back at him from the screen.

The screens extended into the Quinjet, and Steve was fixated on the images playing before him. Loki was… skipping. Sort of. He definitely had a bit of a jump in his step as he descended the marble staircase, and almost seemed to be humming to himself as his fingers skimmed over the banister. ‘Strange,’ Steve thought to himself. ‘What’s got him so happy?’

Then he noticed the paper coffee cup in Loki’s other hand. It looked to be almost empty, and Steve felt his stomach drop. Things were about to get stupid.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind, Loki flipped the spear (Steve knew it was the spear. How many pimp-canes had a Tesseract-blue light bulb on the tip?) in his hand, spun on heel and swung it full-force into the first person’s head he could reach. 

It was a stunning hit. One that would rival Joe DiMaggio at his peak. For a second, Steve felt like cheering, until he realized that Loki had probably shattered every bone in the poor man’s face. And he was still going. Steve never thought anyone could have that much _fun_ , skipping through a large room, spinning a spear like a freaking baton and smacking everyone in the vicinity with it. There were _crack_ s and _crunch_ es and _thund_ s and screams of pain, and Loki was in the midst of it all, having the time of his damn life.

Steve was awestruck, and it wasn’t until Loki grabbed the curator, flipped him one-handed onto his back and plunged some nasty-looking contraption into the poor man’s eye that he snapped out of it and tore his gaze from the screen. “We need to hurry.”

By the time they finally arrived on-scene, a crowd of confused Germans were knelt on the ground before Loki, who was rambling on about how they would always kneel. Two men in the back were whispering amongst themselves fearfully. “Was zum Teufel ist er?” the younger of the two asked quietly.

“Ich weiß nicht,” the other replied, shaking his head. “Marta sagte, er will, dass wir niederknien, aber ich denke, er könnte verrückt sein.”

Both snickered into their hands, and Loki pointed his spear at in their direction. “I heard that!” he snapped, and both men fell silent. “What did you just say?”

The older man got slowly to his feet. “Wir sprechen kein Englisch!” he said simply. “Holen Sie sich einen Übersetzer. Vielleicht kann sie helfen, nehmen Sie zurück in die Anstalt.”

“I don’t know what you just said, but it is _really_ pissing me off.” His spear exploded with light, and the man only had time to mutter ‘Scheiße’ before the blast was deflected back into Loki’s face by Steve’s impeccable timing. And his shield.

“He says he doesn’t speak English, you nutjob!” Steve called, as Loki picked himself up off the ground, pride wounded more than anything.

“Oh, that _does_ explain quite a bit…” Loki mumbled. “Well, no matter. What is they’re calling you now? Captain Spandex? Soldier Boy? Man out of Time?”

“I’m not the one who’s out of time,” Steve replied, and the roar of the Quinjet’s engines filled the air as Natasha aimed everything that held a bullet in Loki’s direction. Checkmate.

“Loki,” Natasha’s voice rang out. “Drop the weapon and stand down.”

For some reason, this seemed to genuinely anger the demi-god. “Why do you fools keep attacking me from the air?!” he shouted. “Have you never played Fire Emblem? Ranged attacks always obliterate flying units!”

“Haven’t you played Pokémon?” Natasha retorted over the loudspeaker. “Fighting types are weak against Flying types.”

Loki charged up the laser spear. “Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” 

The resulting shot _almost_ clipped the Quinjet’s wing, and Natasha’s smug voice rang out again. “Loki’s attacked missed!”

But Loki didn’t have time for a second shot. Steve’s shield collided with his face, and he took the opportunity to pounce on the stunned demi-god and smash his fist into his smug face.

“It’s not very effective,” Loki taunted, and jabbed his spear into Steve’s stomach.

Well. Shit.

The curb-stomping continued relentlessly, and any doubts Steve had previously entertained about Loki actually being some sort of demi-god vanished. Still, he’d never expected this kind of chaotic stupid out of such a being. The moment music started blasting from the PA system, however, Steve knew the situation was about to reach a whole new level of stupid.

“ _I WANNA BEEEE THE VERY BEST, LIKE NO-ONE EVER WAAAASSS~!_ ”

Two simultaneous blasts from Tony’s hands, and Loki was for the count. “It’s super effective!” Tony said, aiming his entire rocket arsenal in the fallen demi-god’s direction. “Make your move, Reindeer Games.” Loki pouted, and held up his hands in the universal ‘I’m not holding some big deadly weapon so please don’t shoot’ sign. “Good move.”


	5. Tony

Tony wanted to slap the little tweaker square in the face. Not because he’d just attempted to subjugate a plaza in Stuttgart. Not because he’d been using peoples’ heads for batting practice. And not because he had drilled an eyeball out of a man’s skull.

No. It was because Loki would _not_. STOP. Moving. His eyes were darting every which-way, his fingers were drumming away against the seat, and both his feet were tapping so fast that Tony was beginning to wonder if Asgardians could have seizures isolated to a single body part.

“Is he saying anything?” Fury asked intently.

“Not a word,” Natasha replied.

Over the speakers, Fury’s sigh sounded like a rush of static. “Just get him here. We’re low on time.”

Steve glanced back at Loki, whose feet were still tapping uncontrollably, as though to some really catchy tune he was probably hearing in his head. “I don’t like it,” he muttered.

“What, Rock of Ages giving up so easily?”

“I don’t remember it being that easy,” Steve countered. “This guy packs a wallop.”

Tony shrugged. “Still, you are pretty spry for an older fellow,” he said. “What’s your thing, Pilates?”

“What?”

“It’s like calisthenics,” Tony explained. “You might have missed a couple things doing time as a Capsic---Will you _**stop it ?!**_ ” he snapped suddenly.

Steve blinked. “Stop what?”

“Not you, _him_.” He pointed at Loki, who had the audacity to look confused.

“Me? I haven’t done anything.”

Natasha snorted. “Other than steal the Tesseract, massacre government staff, take multiple hostages with mind control and rip out a guy’s eyeball.”

“Yes, we’ve established _that_ much,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “Let’s move on to more recent accusations.”

Tony would have slammed his head into his palm if said palm hadn’t been sheathed in iron. “I’m starting to get motion sickness just from looking at you,” he growled. “Can’t you hold still for ten seconds, you tweaker?”

Loki giggled, and resumed glancing around the jet, fingertips drumming a tattoo on the seat. Tony gritted his teeth, but said nothing.

Steve frowned. “Fury didn’t tell me he was calling you in.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of things Fury doesn’t tell you.”

“Like how an Asgardian demi-god knows video game terminology?” Natasha added. “And how he seems to be familiar with Pokémon?”

Tony jabbed his thumb in Natasha’s direction. “See? She gets it. Clearly this guy’s been here a lot longer than we all thought. Seems like an important thing to be briefed on, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, because my first order of business upon arriving to your primitive planet is to inform Nick Fury of my whereabouts,” came Loki’s sarcastic reply.

Tony thwacked Loki across the back of his head. “No, _your_ first order of business was to drink your way through the Starbucks menu until you’re higher than Charlie Sheen.”

“Don’t forget my weekly trips to Game Stop,” Loki added impishly. “You would be surprised how much can be accomplished after a few shots of espresso.”

Suddenly, a large bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, and the Quinjet’s sensors started beeping. “Where’s this coming from?” Natasha asked no one in particular.

“Pika!” Loki exclaimed in a surprisingly accurate imitation of the little yellow rodent.

“Shut up!” Tony snapped.

And oddly enough, he did. Though it probably had something to do with the loud _thump_ on the outside of the Quinjet. Well fuck. If it was enough to freak Loki out, it had to be trouble. Tony grabbed his mask and headed for the door.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Loki called, but Tony ignored him and pressed the button, completely ignoring the look of pitiful resignation on the demi-god’s face as he went to have a look outside.

“What are you doing?!” Steve shouted, as Tony stepped closer to the open door.

“Stargazing. What’s it look like I’m doing?”

There was another _thump_ , but this time, it was accompanied by a visual aid. Namely, some well-built blond guy in armor, wielding a giant hammer that looked pretty damn intimidating, but otherwise useless.

However, the absolutely priceless ‘Oh shit’ look on Loki’s face seemed to tell a different story. Tony decided to test his theory and aimed both repulsors at their visitor. His assumptions were immediately disproved as the hammer was slammed into his chest, effectively launching him across the interior of the jet. He could only watch as Blondie grabbed Loki by the throat, ripped him out of his restraints, and leapt from the jet, using the not-so-useless-after-all hammer as a propeller of sorts.

“What the fuck just happened?”

“You just got your ass handed to you by a guy with a hammer.”

“Yeah, I got that part, strangely enough,” Tony grumbled. “Way to have my back.”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know what you expected me to do about it,” he said. “You’re the genius who opened the hatch and let him in.”

“Somehow I get the feeling that he would have found a way in without my help,” Tony snapped. “Oh, well.” He took off his helmet and held it to his chest. “So passes Loki of Asgard. He died the way he lived—wide-eyed and not really sure what was going on around him. He will be missed, but certainly not by us. And now for a moment of silence.”

Steve and Natasha glared.

“Okay, fine, I’ll go get him.” He snapped his mask back in place and rocketed off into the night.

“Cap’?” Natasha said. “Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Steve sighed and strapped on his parachute. “Got it.”


	6. Thor

When they finally landed on solid ground (maybe a tad bit harder than necessary), Thor wasted absolutely no time in getting down to business. (He absolutely _was not_ deriving the slightest bit of satisfaction in the way Loki lay winded in the rocks.) “Where is the Tesseract?”

“I think you broke my ass.”

“Do I look to be in a gaming mood?”

“No, I’m serious. I think I felt something snap.”

Thor growled and dropped Mjölnir on the ground with a loud _clunk_ before pulling Loki to his feet. (“Ow, _ow_ , not helping!”) “I thought you dead.”

“Not quite yet,” Loki replied, wincing. “I made a concerned effort, but I’m glad it was all for naught. I’m actually rather enjoying myself. I think I may have found my true calling.”

“You mean slaughtering the innocent—”

“Define ‘innocent’.”

“—and threatening their entire species with war?” Thor countered. “Who would call upon you to do that?”

Loki shifted uncomfortably. “I… may have made a few bargains here and there in my time away.”

“Then you admit you have allied yourself with the Chitauri?”

“I admit to nothing.”

Thor groaned. “What did these bargains consist of?”

“Before I delve into any details, answer me this,” Loki said, grin returning to his face. “Have you ever had coffee?”

“What?”

Loki’s face had returned to its usual psychotic glow. “Coffee! Surely you had some when the Allfather banished you.”

“I… do not recall.”

Something about the crestfallen expression on Loki’s face had Thor feeling momentarily guilty. The last time he had seen such a look had been when he’d accidentally dropped Mjölnir on Loki’s plate of cookies when they were children. Fortunately, Loki was now mature enough to refrain from sobbing in the corner for an hour.

“If you cannot remember, then you haven’t had any,” Loki reasoned.

“Or perhaps I have not taken it to the obsessive extreme that you have.”

At this, Loki actually looked offended. “Have you never tried espresso ristretto?” he snapped. “Do not speak to me of ‘obsession’ until you have. There is a Starbucks not far from here and—”

“Loki, we are not making a Starbucks run.”

“Fine then, there’s a 7-11 down the road.”

“No.”

“You can’t mean to brew your own from the garbage they stock at the supermarket! That’s vile!”

Thor grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook him. Hard. “Look at yourself!” he snapped.

“Yes, look at me indeed! Never have I felt so… alive!”

Self-control was not a thing Thor generally prided himself in. He had worked diligently to extend his patience in the past year, and the fact that he hadn’t punched his brother (yet) was proof that his hard work was beginning to pay off. However, he was still a novice in the ancient art of Composure, so he hoped Loki would enjoy _“feeling alive”_ while he still could.

“You have allied yourself with the Chitauri— _the Chitauri_ , brother!—and invaded Midgard, solely for this beverage you have taken an unhealthy liking to.” Thor held Loki’s gaze for a moment, then shook his head. “I would attempt reasoning with you, but you appear to be beyond that.” Loki smirked. “So I will have to resort to threats. Either give up the Tesseract, or I will personally see to it that you will never have so much as drop of coffee again in your life.”

 _ **That**_ seemed to get Loki’s attention. “I don’t have it,” he said. “Thor… brother… you can’t do this!”

“I can, and I shall,” Thor replied stubbornly.

Loki fidgeted nervously. “I… I can get it. Find it, at any rate. But it will take time.”

“How much time?”

“Several hours. Perhaps sooner, if I had some—”

Thor shook his head. “I will not permit you any more of this poisonous drink.”

“Poison?!” Loki exclaimed, aghast. “It is the farthest thing from poison. Taste it.” Thor had no idea where Loki had been hiding the flask he now held in his hand, but centuries of experience had taught him not to ask.

“Put that away.”

“Just taste it.”

“No.”

“Just a sip?”

“Stop it!”

“I’ll persuade you.”

“Brother, I am warning you…”

Whatever threat Thor was about to utilize was cut short as Loki pressed their mouths together in what could _almost_ have been a heated kiss, if it hadn’t been for the literal ‘heated’ part as Thor’s mouth was flooded with the coffee Loki hadn’t swallowed. The thunder god pulled back, spitting the coffee into the dirt. Loki looked as though someone told him the tooth fairy had been raped by Santa’s reindeer.

“I have had enough of your games, Loki!” Thor snapped. “You will find the Tesseract _now_ , or I’ll—”

Thor was cut off mid-sentence as Iron Man collided into him, carrying him off into the distance. Loki blinked and looked around before downing the remaining contents of his coffee flask. He had a feeling it would be a long night.


End file.
